


Distance Perspectives: The Morning After The Night Before

by MirandasMadeOfStone



Series: Distance Perspectives [1]
Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: Hurt, Long-Distance Relationship, Memories, One Shot, Reminiscing, University, finn's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:46:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4057120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirandasMadeOfStone/pseuds/MirandasMadeOfStone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This one-shot is not for the faint-hearted. It’s really very odd - the explanation will be at the end.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Distance Perspectives: The Morning After The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is not for the faint-hearted. It’s really very odd - the explanation will be at the end.

The sun’s bright morning rays stream in through the skylight. It’s already fairly warm, even though it’s only just gone 10am. The alarm repeats its incessant angry buzzing and Finn groans in frustration and rolls over in the tangle of sheets. He slaps the top of the alarm causing it to crash as it topples off its little metal feet and onto its back.

He promises himself that this is the very last time that he will use the snooze function. He should have been up and out of bed hours ago. His father and Archie have both come knocking on his door more than once, and he’d lied promising them that he just was sorting some things out. There is no real reason for him to be so tetchy with them but he can’t help the sense of annoyance building with each further interruption.

Of course he shouldn’t have drunk so much last night. They were only meant to be having a few celebratory beers and a quiet night in the pub. The pub where it all began so many years before. He ascribed the fourth pint down to nerves, the fifth to the impending change and the sixth and seventh had been all about memories. Unsurprisingly, his head throbs blindingly and waves of nausea rise and fall with each and every movement.

His pottering hand finally locates the glass of water and he dribbles a little more into his dry mouth. A feat that is surprisingly complex due to his prone position. The majority runs down his chin, onto his chest and all over last night’s shirt, which he’d slept in. He groans and shuffles himself up in the bed, palm rubbing furiously at his recalcitrant eyes, which simply do not wish to remain open.

From this vantage, he can see the day beckon from outside his window. The sky is blue and cloudless and the trees sway ever so gently in a light breeze. He sips a little more water and tries to pull himself together. The air is still thick with last night’s alcohol fumes mixed in with sweat and possibly a vague aroma of the kebab that he had spilt on his trainers on the way home.

He sighs because he knows this really isn’t good enough. It takes the image of his son’s smiling face to knock him into action. He stumbles out of bed and promptly stubs his toe, causing profanities to stream from his cracked lips. Eventually, he bites them back and reaches for the skylight handle, yanking it hard to release fresh air to circulate and cleanse the worst of the previous night’s excesses.

Traipsing into the bathroom, he remembers to turn the shower on and let it heat up before getting in. He splashes cold water onto his face and swallows down a couple of rather rough textured tablets from inside the cabinet. Finally, he dares look up and catches sight of his blotchy complexion and the dark circles under his eyes. His head drops low as he rests the weight of his body on his hands, which are firmly gripping the edge of the basin.

He inhales deeply and slowly several times to steady himself, belligerently insisting that it is normal to feel anxious on such an important occasion.   
It’s only when he feels the jets of water on his skin that his thoughts inevitably wander back to her. He supposes that he had been hers from the moment she’d chosen Sabotage on that blasted Juke Box. Of course, he’d feigned dislike back then and even bought into this narrative for a while. That was, until he’d finally acknowledged that he was only being a dick because he actually liked her. His face softens as he remembers her smile and those luminous eyes that had captivated and mesmerised him.

It was never destined to be an easy path to walk with her. Indeed, they had nearly been over before they’d really begun. But they’d found their own away after his brief and unhappy stay in Leeds. Even now, he can recall the smell of her face cream, the way her silky hair had glided over his shoulder and the feel of her soft skin pressed against his on that very first night they had spent together. And something deep within stirs.

As the near scalding water, pours over his body, he recalls that first year of University with a tremor in his hands. They had argued and fought - he that she should go and follow her dreams, and she that she should stay and settle with him. The first few weeks had been the sort of torment he never wanted to experience again. There had been many late night phone calls with voices choked with tears and apologies, and more than one emergency drive in the small hours of the morning to convince her that the fire was still burning.

But their struggle had been worth every difficult and painful moment. By the start of her third year away, he’d never been happier. That summer had been full of picnics in the fields, dancing wildly with arms cast aloft, to the tune of live bands, and evenings holding hands, curling up close and watching the stars. They had even talked about their future; the house they were going to live in, the music room they were going to create and even the sofas they wanted to buy.

There had been one particularly memorable row over what breed of dog they were going to adopt. He favoured larger breed dogs and had been particularly keen on an alsatian, whereas she preferred something smaller and fluffier. He recalls with fondness her petulant expression when he refused to back down and the stand off had continued.

He hears banging on the bathroom door and shouts out loudly that he’s nearly done in the shower and will be down shortly. The water is now lukewarm at best. He grabs the bottle of Lynx shower gel from the floor that he muses he must have left here while she was at University. The smell is so deeply reminiscent and evocative that he is left reeling. He bites the inside of his cheek hard and swallows back the tears that threaten to fall.

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the image of his boy - Jacob. Despite his unexpected arrival, he constitutes the greatest blessing Finn has ever known. In so many respects his birth represented a new life for Finn too. He was a father now, someone who had to rise to being looked up to and respected, someone to teach his child about friendship and love. That small boy’s smile never failed to lift him, his laugh was infectious and when he cried, it was always his daddy’s arms that he sought.

Finn got out of the shower and toweled himself down roughly. Wandering back through to his bedroom, he spied a cup of tea and bacon sandwich on the chest of drawers, ostensibly left by his well meaning father. The sandwich turned his stomach, but he sipped gratefully at the scalding, sugary liquid.

Carefully, he opened his case and removed his new socks, boxers and handkerchief. He could just about make out the faint strains of some long forgotten so -called classic from his father’s record collection being played downstairs and paused.

Music had always been their thing, the life blood that coursed through their very beings and became an intrinsic and central part of their relationship. They had used it to express all manner of feelings over the years - happiness, love, comfort and even those things they had found hard to discuss such as frustration, fear and hurt.

He pulls the dark grey trousers off the solid wood hanger and puts them on. In his state of flux, he decides that his shoes must follow. The shirt is next. The collar feels far too stiff for his liking and he tries in vain to make it more pliable. He struggles with the cufflinks and then moots that perhaps Archie may be able to assist. The tie is next to resurrect memories as the last time he tied one of these in his bedroom mirror was for his grandmother’s funeral.

A solitary tear trickles down his left cheek. He wipes it away and realises he hasn’t shaved. He glances at the clock and panic finally starts to set in. He fumbles again with the cufflinks and one drops to the floor. He bends down, hands trailing over the carpet but in the interest of expediency he drops to his knees and eventually locates the small silver bar under the corner of his chest of drawers.

As he pulls it out, his littlest finger catches on something else. Even though he knows that he shouldn’t, he drags the box out. He dusts off the plastic cover and he’s glad he’s already on his knees. Although he bites his lip hard, he cannot stifle the unbidden sob that vents as he reads the cover. With utmost clarity, he can recollect making this for her one evening in October of her third year at University.

He had finished a lengthy shift at the garage and had declined the offer of beers and a pizza. In the full knowledge of the impending pleasure of seeing her the following evening, he hadn’t been able to resist compiling his latest favourite tunes for her delectation. They had listened to them together, carefree in a post coital bliss in Bristol. Up until that Christmas, he had felt as if he were on top the world, their young lives presenting endless possibilities, which stretched out tantalisingly front of them.

With hindsight, he still cannot fathom the signs that must have been present, let alone comprehend how he missed them. It had taken her a full six months to articulate her true feelings and by then the point of no return had already been reached. His breath hitches in his throat and he futilely tries to hold back a couple of tears.

“Finn….will you get a fucking move on. We’re going to be ridiculously late at this rate.” His best friend’s voice shatters his stupor.

And a steely resolve dawns. Whatever anyone else might think, or say, today is not about him. It’s about setting the example to his son, providing him with the family that only touched his own life so briefly. It’s about being strong and courageous. And it’s about giving Emma the day she’s always dreamed about.

Calm, patient and kind Emma. The woman he loves and will be spending the rest of his life with. It may have taken Jacob for him to discern that, although his love for Emma was different, less raw, intense and consuming, it was no less valid. It was just different. He inhales deeply and momentarily holds his breath. Composure regained, he shakes his head a little and toys with his hair. He grabs the jacket off the hanger and plasters a smile on his face before running down the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> I make no apologies for writing this Finn. He’s been messed up by his experiences and that’s what’s brought him to this point. I’ve never written one without the happy ever after before. I wanted to challenge myself to consider alternative possibilities… ouch.
> 
> This was my very first one-sitting fic - literally written in 45 minutes. I’ve made a handful of minor changes and this is my writing in it’s raw state.
> 
> This will be the first in a series of short fics on long distance love - the others will retell the same story with different possibilities!!! I need my 'happy ever after' fix!


End file.
